


one time i knew you

by Radio Rascal (Vagrants)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Cyclonus is a time traveling yandere, Horror, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, it's quite dark so use discretion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrants/pseuds/Radio%20Rascal
Summary: Trapped in the past, Cyclonus does his best to serve his true master. If Galvatron doesn't want the help, Cyclonus will just have to be persistent.





	one time i knew you

**Author's Note:**

> i like this ship and all but there was a lot of horror potential in this continuity and i don't write nearly enough horror!
> 
> music recs:  
> Louisa - Lord Huron  
> Work Song - Hozier

Under two full moons, the hills were dappled with shadow. From below, Cyclonus’s silhouette was a dark spot against the sky, glowing red from the face and stomach. Robot mode was slow but quiet, and he needed stealth tonight.

He couldn’t fail. Galvatron was counting on him; he wouldn’t fail.

The energon farm appeared over the horizon. The main complex was a huge, drab cube squatting in the middle of a circular electrical fence. At this hour, only security and maintenance drones wandered the place, and nobody was expecting an invasion from above—the fence was their only defensive measure.

Cyclonus landed on the other side of the fence at the back of the building. He’d timed it perfectly; the guard was just turning the far corner, the glow of their flashlight disappearing from view. The back door was always locked, but the lock was simple enough to pick.

Galvatron couldn’t come on these missions, of course. That would be absurd. Cyclonus could hardly stand to be away from him after being apart for so long already, but there were things he tolerated for his master’s sake.

Generators and fuse boxes dominated the room beyond. He moved through it and exited onto the main floor.

The central fixture was the energon harvester in the center of the expansive room. It stretched from the ceiling to the floor and beneath it, boring into Cybertron itself to extract the fuel from within. A big, sonorous buzz came from the harvester. Processors and refiners surrounded the harvester, rumbling as they purified the raw fuel, the noise like a mechanical orchestra.

A drone crossed Cyclonus’s path. It paused, looked up at him, and beeped in greeting. He’d spent weeks befriending the dumb creatures so they wouldn’t alert the guards to him; killing them was an option, but he wouldn’t have been able to come back to this place for fear of increased security.

He stalked across the room, gaze darting everywhere for signs of approaching bots. He never felt more open, more vulnerable than during these moments. Cyclonus was a mech of the shadows.

At the end of the processing line was a conveyor belt that carried large empty cubes, as big as a dozen of the regular size. They were filled under an automatic spigot attached to the side of a big tank. Cyclonus stole up to the conveyor, took one of the full cubes, and dashed back the way he came.

The guard was coming back around as he stepped into the generator room. He knew because he’d accidentally left the back door open and saw the flashlight through the gap. Cyclonus tensed, processor spinning between competing responses of fight and flight.

He chose flight.

He turned and pounded across the main floor again. Windows lined the wall near the ceiling, big enough to admit a Decepticon.

“Hey, is somebody in here?”

Cyclonus had little choice. He rocketed upward, burst through the glass, and cringed at the blaring alarm that activated as a result. The energon swished in the cube and he gripped it tighter, paranoid of dropping it. They all needed this fuel.

He glanced back. The farm had turned on massive floodlights and turned them towards the sky. Cyclonus flew lower, skimming the ground. It had been a convenient location, and now that they knew a Decepticon was stealing from them, their security would increase even more. He felt a stab of frustration, but quickly refocused on the positives.

They’d be all right. Cyclonus would just have to stay out longer, and bring back more gifts as apologies.

An hour later, he’d come down from his close experience and soared once more. He was so high he felt as if he were dead center between the moons and the ground. Despite the distance, his sharp optics caught an interesting glimmer.

He turned in a steep bank and landed near a shallow crevice. Crystals growing out of the depression caught the moonlight brilliantly. Cyclonus was briefly captivated. He grabbed the largest, about the size of the palm of his hand, snapped it off close to the base, then stowed it in his chest.

His previous irritation dissipated entirely. Galvatron would like this. He was waiting for Cyclonus to come back, so Cyclonus took the air again and didn’t stop for anything else.

* * *

It was early morning when he returned. Sitting at the edge of a tiny, abandoned settlement was an especially ramshackle house. Nobody had lived here for some time; the town died when the nearby mine ran empty. His dwelling in particular looked run down, condemned.

He landed, opened the front door, and placed the energon inside. Then he began his perimeter inspection.

There was a good amount of naked yard between houses, but every crevice, dip, snarl, and hillock between them was suspicious—and he had to check the nearest houses themselves, of course. He never went in, just glanced in windows and unlocked doors, checking for signs of life.

The sun was high when he finished. He was hungry and lonesome and returned home to sate himself.

Cyclonus stepped through the front door, which opened into a combination living room and kitchen. The hall was in front of him. Dust covered every surface in thick, cakey layers, except for a thin path where Cyclonus’s own feet had swept away the neglect to reveal the smooth but still dirty floor underneath. The room was empty save for four small glasses and a grey bottle on the kitchen counter, and a depleted energon container sitting by the front door.

He would dispose of that later. Now, he decanted portions from the full container into the handheld glasses. First he took one for himself, because the hunger was quite maddening at that point and he couldn’t bear the watch others eat when he himself was empty.

When he was done, he took two of the glasses in one arm, moved into the hall, and opened the nearest door.

It was pitch black inside. The light from outside cast a soft rectangle into the darkness. Skywarp whimpered and drew himself tighter into the corner, red optics round as the moons.

Cyclonus took three steps into the room, stopped at the edge where light met darkness, and set down a glass. He withdrew and waited.

Skywarp inched forward, dragging his chains on the floor. Cyclonus only saw his optics and his claws as they darted out to grab the glass. He gulped the fuel needily, then returned the empty glass. “Thank you,” he squeaked as he retreated into his corner.

Cyclonus picked up the empty glass, set it in the kitchen, and went on to his brother’s room.

Thundercracker sat nearer the center of the room, the open door illuminating the tips of his claws and the curve of his jaw as he dipped his head forward. He always looked and acted half-starved, and showed no shyness—as soon as Cyclonus’s hand left the glass, Thundercracker took it and poured it over his intake. Energon dribbled down his chin and neck. He shoved the empty glass back at Cyclonus and turned his back on the open door.

With himself and the clones fed, he could devote the rest of the day to Galvatron. Those two had to be cared for first, because Cyclonus tended to not want to leave Galvatron’s side once they were together. He couldn’t be annoyed with Thundercracker’s attitude when anticipation of his master filled his processor.

In the kitchen, Cyclonus took the grey bottle and upended it into the final glass.

He put a lid on the glass, tugged up the trap door in the kitchen floor, and went down the ladder into the lower level. Frigid air struck his armor, making his plates tense to cover any possibly exposed protoform. His cheeks hurt, but he ignored his discomfort in favor of the excitement coursing through his system, electrifying every line. One foot and then the other touched the floor, and Cyclonus turned to face the cellar.

The room was small and illuminated overhead by one bright bulb. Galvatron huddled against the far wall, knees drawn to his chest, chained arms hugging his legs, head bowed. His old grey and red armor had been switched for a darker, colder palette, one closer to Cyclonus’s memory. He didn’t move as Cyclonus stepped forward.

“Good morning, Galvatron,” he said.

Galvatron’s head snapped up, his face snarling. “Megatron,” he wheezed. “Megatron. Megatron. Mega—” His chant went on like that for some time. Cyclonus waited until his voice thinned out into inarticulate huffing.

“I have something for you.” Cyclonus opened his chest and pulled out the crystal. Galvatron didn’t look at it, continuing to glare at him. His spirit briefly fell. Of course; there were a dozen others just like this sitting around the room.

Every gift Cyclonus brought him lay around the room, stacks and stacks of things that often touched the ceiling. Anything Cyclonus thought Galvatron might find interesting was on display; weapons, old computers, space bridge components, books, datapads, Earth paraphernalia, stolen mods, servos, the remains of mechanimals, musical instruments, large tools, pieces of buildings, pieces of rock, raw unprocessed metal, and big tools stifled the already-cramped room. Loose piles of smaller objects were scattered around like mounds of treasure in a tomb, gems, trinkets, toys, baubles, little decorative statues, framed pictures, missing springs and cogs from unknown machines, and wild crystals all mixed together. It was a whirlwind of a physical monument to Cyclonus’s feverish devotion. All that remained of the floor was a wide walkway from the ladder to Galvatron.

Cyclonus tossed the new crystal onto a pile and drew closer. “It’s feeding day,” he said as he knelt by Galvatron’s side.

Galvatron drew away with a feral growl, but when he saw the proffered cube, hunger was clear in his expression. He looked away after a second, pressing the side of his face to the wall. Still so prideful.

With the cube in one hand, Cyclonus used the other to grab Galvatron by the jaw. He put up a cursory fight, scowling and hissing like something untamed, but he submitted once he caught the fuel’s scent. Hunger couldn’t be ignored, especially when one ran on empty for days at a time. It was terrible to keep him like that, but until he stopped fighting so much, it was unfortunately necessary.

This time, though, he even opened his intake himself. He took the fuel in small, flinching sips. Cyclonus had tasted a drop on the tip of a claw once, and it was very foul. Still, Galvatron ate well today.

When he was finished, he snapped his head back in an attempt to free himself from Cyclonus’s grip, but the claws around his chin were too form. He gave up after a moment and sat, brooding, optics brightening as his system absorbed the fuel.

With the back of a hand, Cyclonus roughly wiped the excess fuel off Galvatron’s intake. Then he leaned in.

Galvatron’s reaction was instant. He gasped, tensing his neck as he fought the hold again. He threw both hands against Cyclonus’s chest. It was like being hit by a stiff breeze.

Cyclonus shut his optics before their lips made contact. Galvatron was stiff and tasted like chemicals. His digits tensed against Cyclonus’s armor, a weak but persistent defiance. The real him, the real Galvatron, was in there somewhere and he wanted this; Cyclonus knew it. All he needed was a little help, little moments like these, to convince him to come out.

He drew away. Galvatron’s optics had blown out. Cyclonus studied his face while his optics rebooted. He slumped against the wall, expression slack and empty. “Why do you do this?” he asked.

It hadn’t been the first time he asked that question, but Galvatron's memory sometimes failed him. Cyclonus said, “Because I’m lonely. I want to be with you, Galvatron.”

“I’m not him,” he growled. “I’m not! I’m Megatron! Megatron!” He slammed the back of his head against the wall, once, twice, three times. That hadn’t happened before. It was something Galvatron would do.

Cyclonus allowed himself a rare smile. It was easy to feel hopeless but he was making progress.

Galvatron’s brief tantrum ended and he drew himself up tightly, away from Cyclonus. His optics glanced over the mountains of stuff, a distant and glazed look falling over him. “I’m going to kill you,” he said, suddenly snapping back to lucidity for a moment. “I’m going to kill you...going to kill you...going to kill…”

Cyclonus sat down cross-legged and watched him. He wasn’t angry at Galvatron’s behavior or threats. It was part of the process, and he was willing to endure anything for his master’s sake. If it took one million years of this for Megatron to die and Galvatron to emerge, it would take one million years. Cyclonus had nothing but time and love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! hope you were disturbed!


End file.
